


Coming Home To You

by muchmorethanaprincess



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, celebrity/manager au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-02
Updated: 2016-02-02
Packaged: 2018-05-17 04:57:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5855041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/muchmorethanaprincess/pseuds/muchmorethanaprincess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>BFF prompt fill for: "Can you please act appropriately do you know just how many of your fuck ups I’ve had to cover up last week’ Celebrity and manager AU taken from cup-of-hot-coffee's prompt list</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coming Home To You

It’s still dark when Clarke wakes up to pounding at her front door. It takes her a minute, but she stumbles out of bed, tugging the comforter off with her and wrapping it around herself like a cape. She makes it to the door just as a deep voice yells, “Clarke!”

“Oh my god, I’m here!” she yells back, opening the door to Bellamy Blake, who pushes past her into the apartment.

He leans against her kitchen counter, crossing his arms and leveling a glare in her direction. She doesn’t even glance at him as she walks back to her bedroom. He follows.

“What the fuck did you think you were doing?” he asks, just as she flops onto her bed, pulling her pillow under her face and snuggling in.

“What are you going on about?” she mumbles.

“What did you think you were doing canoodling with Raven at a club last night, two days after being photographed kissing Wells’ cheek after getting dinner with him at a fancy restaurant?”

“Oh my god.” She laughs. “Did you really just use the word ‘canoodling’? How old are you?”

“Are you trying to be the poster child for bisexual stereotypes?” he asks, frustrated. “Because the tabloids are eating this shit up.”

“What do the headlines say?” she asks, pushing an arm out from her covers and making grabby motions. She feels him put his phone in her hand, opening her eyes to look at it and flinching at the brightness of the screen.

The browser’s on a Google search for “Clarke Griffin,” and the top few posts all feature pictures of her with Raven last night, arms wrapped around each other, hugging and smiling on a swanky couch. There’s one particular photo of Clarke with her face pressed into Raven’s neck that gets a lot of attention. Some of the articles have pictures of her and Wells too, from the other night, with Clarke tugging on his hand to show him something, leaning up to kiss his cheek at the end of the night.

The headlines are all variations on “Clarke Griffin Cozies up to New Guy AND Girl?” “Gal Pals or Something More?” “Two Hot Dates in One Week,” and “Clarke Griffin Finally Moves on after Lexa Woods.”

“Ugh,” Clarke groans, tossing the phone to the side of the bed and closing her eyes. She doesn’t read speculative articles. They’re all drivel filled with “quotes” from “trusted sources” that are entirely made up. She learned that pretty quickly.

“I know you wanted to be fully out as bi, and you know I support that, but the narrative being painted about you and Raven would probably be pretty different right now if you  _ weren’t _ out. It would be about a night with the girls or whatever. For fuck’s sake, Clarke, I thought we agreed you were going to be responsible about this.”

She cracks an eye open to look at Bellamy. He’s standing at the side of her bed, his hands planted on his hips, glaring down at her.

“No, you told me to be more responsible in public and I nodded vaguely so you would leave me alone about it.”

“Jesus Christ, Griffin,” he groans.

“Oh don’t ‘Griffin’ me, Blake!”

“Do you know how many of your scandals I’ve covered up?”

She scoffs, shaking her head. “Scandals.”

“Yes, scandals! I minimized your breakup with Finn as much as I could, no one even  _ knew _ about the cheating even though I would have just as well let him burn for it. I covered up all of your excessive drinking afterward, I dealt with you rebounding,  _ inappropriately _ , with Lexa—”

She sputters. “Inappropriate!’

“You had sex with her in public, and you nearly got caught!”

Clarke winces.

“I made your breakup with her seem like a mutual decision, made it seem casual instead of as serious as it was—”

“Bellamy.”

“And then you get photographed with Wells  _ and _ Raven in the same week, right when things were starting to calm down!”

“Bellamy.”

“What?” he asks, taking a breath.

“I don’t want to restrict myself from my friends just because I’m openly bisexual and people like to take pictures of me when I’m in public.”

Bellamy sighs, running a hand over his face. “I know.”

“Raven is one of my best friends, you’ve seen us like that before, it’s normal for us.”

“I know.”

“I kiss Wells on the cheek all the time, it’s not a big deal.”

“I know. But to the press it is.”

“Are you done yelling at me?”

His shoulders drop. “Yeah, I’m done,” he says, soft.

“Okay. Are you going to get in bed?”

Bellamy gapes at her for a second. “What?”

“It is six in the fucking morning, Bellamy.  _ I’m  _ certainly going back to sleep, so you can either get out of my apartment or join me. You can’t release a statement about Raven and Wells at six in the morning, it’s way too early-- you’d look too eager to mitigate the damage, it would make it worse, not better. And I  _ know _ you don’t have anything else to do because  _ I’m _ the only celebrity whose life you micromanage.”

“I’m your manager.  _ And _ your agent. It is literally my job to micromanage you.”

“I know that. But you can manage me after ten o’clock, okay?”

Bellamy nods after a second, sits on the bed and toes his shoes off, and Clarke holds up the covers enough for him to slip underneath. She tosses him a pillow, and he tucks it under his head while she rolls to face him.

“We’ll do damage control on Twitter,” she says. “I’ll post an old picture of me and Wells, from when we were kids, say something about being lifelong friends. And I’ll tweet something at Raven.” She yawns. “I don’t know what. You’ll have to figure that out.”

He chuckles a little. “Okay.”

Clarke closes her eyes and pushes a little closer to him.

“You know you can touch me, Bellamy.”

“What.”

“We’ve cuddled before.”

“Yeah, when we were drunk.”

“No, you were drunk. I was sober.”

“You were sober?” he asks, shocked.

“I mean, I’d cuddle with you drunk too, but I was definitely sober that night.”

“Damn.”

She laughs, closing her eyes.

“Where’s your hand?” she reaches out wildly until he places his hand in hers, and she guides it to her lower back.

He sighs, but pulls her towards him until her head is resting against his chest.

His voice rumbles through her. “Just, be a little more discreet, Clar—”

“ _ Oh my god _ , lecture me when we wake up.”

He sighs. “Fine.”

“Besides,” she teases, “I’m being discreet right now.”

His overdramatic groan makes her laugh, and sleep pulls them under in a few minutes.

 

Clarke wakes up first. For all that he was the one knocking down Clarke’s door before the sun was up, he’s overworked, and Clarke can see that he’s tired more than he ever lets on.

Maybe she  _ should _ try to be a little more discreet, if only so Bellamy can get some more sleep. Not that he would know how to relax even if she wasn’t creating messes for him to clean up.  _ Maybe I should take him on vacation _ , she thinks, as she starts making breakfast.

Bellamy wanders in later, rubbing his eyes sleepily and running a hand through his hair. She puts a hand on his shoulder and pushes him into a seat at her kitchen counter, then sets a plate in front of him. He looks up at her sheepishly.

“Sorry for barging in earlier.”

Clarke sighs. “It’s okay. And I’m sorry too. I’ll be more careful. I didn’t know there would be people taking pictures at the club. I thought we were safe. I’m not trying to make more work for you, I promise.”

“What’s our motto?” Bellamy asks.

Clarke rolls her eyes, but recites, “Even when it seems like there are no photogs, they’re always there. Even if it’s just a dumb kid with his iPhone.”

“Right.” Bellamy nods. “But I understand, and I overreacted. If you don’t care what the tabloids are saying, then I shouldn’t either, as long as it’s not affecting your career.”

“Now that’s the attitude I like to hear!” Clarke says, chipper. “I’m glad a little cuddling set you right again.”

He rolls his eyes, but Clarke thinks she sees his face go pink, just a little.

“I promise all the…  _ experiences _ will only make my songwriting better,” she says.

“I sure hope so. Just, the next time you want to be that close to Raven, invite her over  _ here _ . I know the whole singer/songwriter gig means baring your soul to the world and whatever, but maybe you could try keeping the writing material private until the album’s actually out.”

She wrinkles her nose, but concedes. “You got it. Now, about those tweets…”

 

Clarke’s dancing with Octavia and Harper, a few drinks in, when she feels her phone buzz where it’s tucked into her bra. She wriggles it out and sees a message notification from Bellamy, so she waves to the girls that she’s moving off the center of the floor. She wedges herself in a quiet corner to make out Bellamy’s text.

_ what are you up to? I’ve got some concert logistics we should talk about if you’re home. _

She rolls her eyes. Despite the fact that they were friends before she hired him as her manager, he  _ always  _ has a work excuse for seeing her, even when it’s as simple as, “You’ve gotta see this adorable letter a fan wrote you.” She’s got a small stack of all the best fan-mail she’s ever received, hand-picked by Bellamy. She reads them when the paparazzi taunt her with sexist slurs, trying to draw a meltdown or reaction from her, or when she sees a particularly nasty tabloid headline. It helps to remind her why she chased her dream in the first place.

_ I’m out right now, but I was planning on being home soon. Head over and use your key? I’ll meet you there. _

She was not planning on heading home anytime soon. But now that she has the option of hanging out on her couch with Bellamy, talking about her upcoming shows for about five minutes and then probably making popcorn and watching Netflix, staying to dance and flirt with people that she won’t go home with seems pointless. She’d rather go home to Bellamy.

She texts Miller to pick her up from the club, and Bellamy’s text comes through a moment later.

_ Sounds good, I’ll see you soon. _

She catches Octavia for a second, tells her that she’s going home to talk business with her brother, which earns her a knowing look that she chooses to ignore. She’s sure it’s very telling that she’s leaving the excitement of the club for the simplicity that is Bellamy in her apartment, but she honestly doesn’t care.

She waves civilly to the paparazzi outside the club, and hops in the waiting SUV, back windows darkly tinted.

“Hey Nate.”

“Clarke.” He nods, ever the stoic professional. “Where to?”

“Just home.”

When she gets in her apartment, she finds Bellamy at her counter, working on his laptop.

“Hey, so I was looking at these venues—” he starts to say, but cuts off when he glances up at her.

“Whoa. Holy shit.”

She’s a little gratified. Her dress is black, shows off her boobs nicely and flares out from her waist in a short, full skirt. She’d be a little offended if he  _ didn’t _ react, given the copious amount of skin she’s showing.

“I knew you were out, I didn’t know you were like,  _ out _ ,” he says.

“I was with Octavia,” she says, like this explains everything.

“Ah.” It does.

She tilts her head to the living room. “Couch?”

He nods, and they settle in together, Clarke pausing to take off her heels before leaning back. She’s only a few inches from him, their legs almost touching as he shows her the places he wants to book for some upcoming semi-private gigs in big cities that they’re meticulously planning in order to create some carefully cultivated publicity.

Clarke only has one album under her belt, and though it had a wildly successful single, she and Bellamy and her record company are doing everything they can to make sure she doesn’t fall off the map and go down as a one hit wonder to be forgotten in a few years.

They talk through some of the details, and when they’re done, Clarke snuggles into his side. Bellamy raises his arm to allow it, placing his hand on her waist once she’s settled.

“I’m glad you’re in this with me,” she says, sighing and closing her eyes.

He doesn’t say anything, just squeezes her hip.

“I wouldn’t want to do this alone, or with anyone but you.”

“You mean the fame thing?” he asks.

She nods against him. “You keep me sane.”

“I’m glad.” She can hear the small smile in his voice.

“It wouldn’t be so bad if I never put out new music, right? Just disappeared into the shadows?”

Bellamy raises his other hand to stroke her hair.

“No, that wouldn’t be bad. But that’s not what you want, is it? You want to keep making music.”

“Yeah, I do.”

“We can try to keep it small though. Who knows if it’ll work, but you don’t have to aim for platinum records. I’ll back you up on that, if that’s what you want.”

She puts a hand on his thigh, feels him turn his nose into her hair.

“It is. I like being a small indie singer.”

“Okay.”

“And I am going to be more private, you know. I don’t want to restrict my life, but I don’t want everyone in my business, either. So I’ll stop making messes for you to clean up.”

“Good,” Bellamy murmurs. “But I know you can’t always avoid it. It’s not your fault that you’re stalked by paparazzi and that celebrity culture is fucked up. I’m sorry for overreacting. I just don’t like seeing you torn apart by tabloids,” he says, irritation in his voice. “It bugs me.”

She lifts her head to look at him, trying to decipher his expression. Surely, if it bothers him this much… but that feels too presumptuous for her to even think.

“Mmm. Apology accepted.” She turns her face further into his chest, and wonders if she should say it. She wants to, but she also doesn’t want to be wrong. “You know, it’s okay to just say you were jealous of Raven. Or Wells. You know better than to be jealous of Wells though, right?” She tries to sound casual, and mostly succeeds.

Bellamy takes a moment to respond, which almost worries her.

“I know better than to be jealous of Wells. I spend more time with you than he does, anyway, he should be jealous of me.”

Clarke laughs, just a tiny huff. “I’ll tell him that next time.”

She brushes her hand over his stomach.

“Were you jealous of Raven?” she asks softly.

“No,” he says, but his voice is indignant.

“Okay.”

“I wasn’t!”

“I said okay!” Clarke insists, smiling. 

“You don’t believe me though.”

She takes a breath. “I don’t want to believe you,” she says, testing the words.

His chest moves beneath her, sucking in air. “You don’t want to believe that I wasn’t jealous of Raven? You  _ wanted _ me to be jealous of Raven?”

“I mean, I wasn’t  _ trying _ . But you showing up at my apartment at six AM because you’re mad about my recklessness the night before would be a lot nicer if…” she trails off, unsure of how much she wants to say.

“If?” he asks. He sounds like he’s holding his breath.

“If your real goal was for me to invite you to go back to bed with me.”

“I mean.” He pauses. “That wasn’t exactly my aim, but it wasn’t a hardship.”

“Well that’s good news,” she mumbles.

“Clarke, look at me.”

She lifts her head just enough to meet his eyes.

“Is this… what do you want? Or are you just tipsy and joking? Because if you are—”

She cuts him off with her mouth before she can overthink it. It’s harsh and off-kilter for a second, before he catches up with her, but then it’s soft and consuming, making her heart race. She tries to lean in, to press herself closer to him, but can’t get the angle right, making a frustrated noise while Bellamy cards his fingers through her hair and keeps kissing her, like he’s afraid if he lets her go for a second she’ll disappear.

She pulls away from his mouth for a moment, ignoring the way he whines at their disconnection, though the jolt that runs through her body at the sound should embarrass her. Instead she just rises to her knees and straddles him, grabbing his face and planting her lips on his again.

Clarke slows down to savor it, scrapes her teeth over his bottom lip to tease him and pulls away until he’s chasing her mouth with his own. She rubs her breasts against his chest until she feels him react, his hand gripping her thigh firmly, the other fisting in her hair as he moves to kiss her neck.

It’s everything Clarke would have thought it might be, if she had ever let herself imagine it. Bellamy is warm and inviting, and his hands moving across her skin make her feel like she’s on fire. It’s so easy to want him, she suddenly can’t understand why she held herself back for so long.  

When Bellamy’s hand runs up her thigh, under her dress, and grips her ass, she lets herself grind down against him, and moans into his mouth as a rush of pleasure courses through her.

“Clarke,” Bellamy says, ducking his head and pulling away enough to look at her. There’s a question on his face, and she knows what he’s asking, because she’s nervous too, in the same way she thinks he is. It takes her a moment to speak, to know how to say what she feels.

“I like coming home to you,” she says, her voice soft. She brushes her thumb over his cheekbone. “Okay?”

He presses his lips together, but the corners turn up with the smile he’s trying to bury. Clarke smiles back, a small, shy expression that she moves to hide against his neck. Bellamy’s hands stroke soothingly across her back, tracing circles into her skin, while his lips brush her temple.

“Okay,” he says.

Clarke raises her head to meet his eyes. “Yeah?”

He shrugs, but she can see he’s far from nonchalant.

“I like coming home to you too.”

It’s easy to kiss him again, and to turn the kissing to devouring, and to turn the devouring into loving.

 

After that, Clarke gets to come home to him a lot more often, and it’s a big improvement from him showing up at six in the morning.

 


End file.
